Of Celebrimbor and the fall of Eregion
by Aranarth
Summary: Self explanatory :) . Please review ! Features some Oc's. Spelling mistakes edited out. ( I hope).
1. Chapter 1

_The year 1695. of the Second Age_

I sat in my council chambers listening to one of my scouts that were ordered to cross the river of Glanduin, and gather news of Sauron's presence in the lands south. I have a massive headache. And things weren't getting better.

"His armies are close " says the scout, "and they are strong, for not only orcs march with him. He has gathered to him the Easterlings and the Southrons. Heavy cavalry and spearman of Rhûn, the light cavalry and infantry of the south. We will be hard pressed, my lord. "

I allow myself a deep sigh. So, that's what Sauron was up to after his departure from Eregion. Not a great surprise there. The poor Atani were always easily seduced by promises of power. Rising from my seat, I send the tired warrior to get some food and sleep. Guilt started tearing me apart. It is my fault, all of it.

"That is not true and stop thinking like that " said a voice behind me. Celeborn came during the scout's report. I sometimes hate the way the older elf can read my thoughts.

"He used you. He manipulated your faith and hope for a better tomorrow. You wanted to do good. There is no shame in that " says Celeborn while quickly scanning the maps on the table.

"Only because I allowed him. " came the tired reply. I was staring through the wall again. The bloody pride of the house of Fëanor always helped the enemy. " Seems the curse of our house has finnaly caught up with me" I thought. "I was a fool for thinking it ended in Nargothrond."

"On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ...". I know the words well. Long have they haunted my dreams.

"You can not allow self-pity in this hour. You have a duty to your people. You are the lord of Eregion. Act like that! " snaps Celeborn angrily. He is right. My grandfather meet his death laughing. So i shake off the shackles of desperation and move to the maps.

" We need to gather our forces. I want every capable elf to be ready by tomorow. Send messengers to Durin. We need the people of Khazad-dûm." I look at the scowl forming on Celeborn's face. After so much time, he still has not forgotten the fall of Doriath.

"You know well that we need them. " I whisper softly. " They are a strong and valiant people." His back stiffens. "I know." He grins bitterly to himself.

My plan is simple. Move out and hit hard. Buy time for my people to escape. Hound every move of the enemy. Messengers are dispatched to Lindon with a request for aid from the High King. We know we can not hold for long. Even the city of Ost-in-Edhil, my capital, is not created for defense. There are no tall walls to hide behind.

Our army has to be our shield. I move to the balcony overlooking the city. Tall white spires rise, fountains echo with the sound of water that is glistening on the moonlight. My city. My people. I will die for them. I will redeem myself in their eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep does not come easily to me that night. My dreams are feverish. I see the disappointed face of my father when I abandoned him. The pale and beautiful face of Annatar grinning at me. The face of my mother, full with silent reproach. The thousand faces of my people looking at me with bitterness. I am their lord. And my weakness doomed us all. I awake in cold sweat. Dawn is near.

After a light breakfast we march out of the city. Two thousand of cavalry, five thousand of infantry. Banners are flapping in the wind. The crescent moon of Elu Thingol, the stars of Fingolfin, the sun of Finarfin. And a single banner with the star of the house of Fëanor. I will not hide. Sauron will know where I am.

It took us until midday to reach Glanduin. While the troops are eating, I call for a council of captains. I stand as the ruler of the city and Celeborn as the lord of the Sindar. Among the present leaders is Arminas, the one that meet Tuor and Túrin. His name means the noble tower. A fitting name for one who survived the battles of the First Age.

The captain of the archers is young Tarborn. He wanted to be a musician, but after his father died in a goblin raid, he took a bow instead. He is clearly nervous, for this is his first major battle. No shame in that. Most of us are jittery. We have no idea where Sauron will cross. He might even split his forces. Glanduin and Mitheithel are no great obstacle. We take a position near Nîn-in-Eilph. With the march defending our front, our swift scouts on horseback will bring us news of Sauron's movement, and we will move according to what he does. It was a solid plan.

I have positioned my tent on a small hill with good view across the river. My elven eyes can see his forces, a shadowy snake moving across the green grass. Although the battle seems distant,the first strike is not far away. And his attack will be strong, for he has strength to spare, while we are weak.

We could not sleep that night. Celeborn and I played a game of chess. We try chasing the darkness away by remembering the happier times. The founding of Eregion. The firm belief of the elves that darkness was vanquished and the hope and faith they poured into the very foundations of the country. Why did I have to destroy that?

Celeborn does not judge me. I am quite surprised by that. Shouldn't I be the guy that fancies his wife? But he acts almost like I am his favourite nephew. Never will I understand these bloody Sindar. But I have grown to respect him during our time together. We have grown close since I discovered Sauron's treachery. He doubted me once, but after seeing I was deceived, he was quick to offer me his friendship. I have never regretted accepting it. The scouts report that the enemy will attack tomorrow.

I equip my armor. It is of typical Noldorin design, the colour is golden. The star of my house is engraved in the chest-piece. My hands fit perfectly into the ornamented gloves. The helm can strike fear into the hearth of even the most hardened orc. It has a single diamond on the forehead, cleverly placed to blind the enemy in battle. It is a beautiful piece. It has to be. My father made it for me when I was younger. Maybe I will meet him soon and we can reconcile in the halls of Mandos. My blade was made by grandfather himself. It is unbreakable and ever-sharp. My thoughts take me to another time. Uncle Maitimo taught me how to fight with a sword.

Despite having only one hand, he was still the best swordsman in our house. I have never been able to beat him in a duel. But practice with him had given me the skill to beat almost everyone else. My shield is leaf-like, like most elven shields, but despite little weight, the protection it offers is superb. Chain-mail covers my legs. I exit my tent to see Celeborn waiting for me, already dressed in an ancient Doriathrim armor. He gives me an encouraging smile, and I nod in return. I am ready. We are ready.


	3. Chapter 3

The first enemy attack came an hour before dawn. Five thousand Orcs were sent over the Glanduin, east of our encampment, while two thousand mounted light armored Southron warrior's were sent directly over the marsh, which is no obstacle for their light weight and small horses. They have the same numbers as we do.

Sauron is obviously telling me that he knows everything about my forces. Despite being called the Deceiver, he really lacks subtlety. Our scouts warned us in time. Our cavalry forces are sent against the Orc. Celeborn leads them. The plan is that he tramples them when they start moving on the plains.

My task is harder, for I have to defend the camp from the riders of the enemy. They do not expect resistance. After crossing the marsh they slowly and silently make a wedge formation. Spread for maximum damage. The only thing visible in the night is our camp-fires. They charge forward screaming their battle cries, eager to spill the blood of their unprepared and sleepy enemies. They are nearly at the tents.

So focused they are that they do not see my pikemen lining up in porcupine formations in front of the encampment. I ordered them to dress in black and paint the blades of their spears with ashes, so light doesn't reflect off their weapons. The horses crash into a wall of spears, their riders not even realising their mistake until it was to late.

The wedge formation they took makes them vulnerable. The Southrons that try to return are forced into the spears by their compatriots coming from behind. It is a massacre. They can not see as well as my elves, and their light armor offer no protection against our blades. Their rearguard tries to flee back across the marsh, but they run right into our hidden bowman. Tarborn has no mercy for them. After a few volleys, the night is quiet again. An entire cavalry force dispatched in one silent strike.

I smile to myself. Attempting to catch a veteran of the battle of Tumhalad off his guard. Preposterous! But I wonder how Celeborn is faring. Around dawn a messenger arrives. My friend moved so swiftly that he managed to catch them while they were crossing the river. The one's that passed to our side were trampled by the horses of his men, and the rest were pushed back. Celeborn sends word that around half of the Orc are dead, and that he will remain at the river bank to spy on the enemy's movements. The first encounter went well for us. But this is only a test of our strength. When he hits next, it will be to destroy. But we are safe for some more time. Orcs canot move during the day.

A shame the same can not be said for the heavy Easterling cavalry. While I rode to meet with Celeborn, my men noticed that he was engaged in a bloody battle. Our elven riders used their speed and agility to move beyond the range of the spears of their enemies. The Easterlings are using a tight formation. Almost like a mounted phalanx formation. Where elves have fallen, they lie alone, having been caught and cut down by cruel scimitars. Where the men lie, they lie in groups which we managed to isolate and destroy. The fiercest battle rages at the gaps. Cavalryman move and circle each other on the shallow sand, careful not to fall into the water.

Among the elves, I see the crescent moon of Thingol on the tallest banner. My friend lives yet ! At once I order my man to push to the gap. A battalion of Moredain has seen us and they move to trample us. At once my men raise their spears in a compact formation. The Easterlings run away seeking easier prey. We are left to move freely, and I order my battalion to charge into the flank of the enemy formation. When the Easterlings switch directions to counter this new threat, Celeborn charges them from the front. Assailed by elves from both sides, they flee back over the gaps. But before we can exchange greetings, they return in much greater numbers. We have to act quickly. The infantrymen of my guard take the most heavy parts of their armor off and move into deeper water. Some died by arrows, but most pulled through. Celeborn and I quickly move with our surviving cavalry, and retreat to the north. We do not want this armored menace to follow us to our camp. A group of them breaks away from the main body and cuts off our way to our encampment anyway. So, it was a trap all along. Put enough pressure, wait for me to come, then deploy forces to capture me. I berate myself for my foolishness. Never again shall I underestimate Sauron.

We can only outrun them slightly, but against such a force there is little we can do in combat. Our horses are tired, while theirs are fresh. Soon they will catch us. My men prepare for a last stand around our banners. And in this hopeless hour, a new army moves to the field. The sun is glinting off their polished armor and their countless spears and axes.

A battle cry breaks through the chaos of the battlefield:

" Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

The Dwarves are here. Durin has come to our aid! I see a nasty grimace forming on Celeborn's face. From this day forward he will owe his life to a dwarf. Our tired cavalry moves behind the protection of the dwarf spears. The Easterlings decided to charge them. But this is no mob or ordinary army they are charging. These are dwarves. And they charge back. I can only watch with my mouth open as a dwarven warrior shrugs off the charge of a fully-sized war horse and moves in to finish his rider off with a quick stroke of his axe. In mere minutes, all of the Easterlings are dead, except the ones that ran away.

" Catching flies, lad?" A deep voice comes from behind me. I turn to face Durin himself. Not giving a damn for proper etiquette I hug him and grip his hand in a warrior handclasp.

" You saved the day, my friend!" I shout unable to contain my excitement.

" It is the least we can do for a stout friend of Narvi and all of the dwarves." he tells me in a voice that sounds like the earth itself is speaking. " It was our honor."

We take council while my man are resting. The surviving Easterlings fled, and their horses are given to my warriors who lost their mounts in battle. They really are beautiful animals. I pick a black stallion for myself, for my horse started limping. I tended to it and it will heal in time, but I need a horse. The dwarven army moves with us to the gaps of Glanduin. Durin will protect them while we return to our camp. The night has fallen. The riders that I sent to check the situation at the camp return with news of an attack there. But they can say nothing specific. I order my soldiers to move at once. We ran into my soaking wet guard on the way back. They are quickly given horses, and move with us. We ride hard, but maybe we are to late already. Smoke rises in the distance...


	4. Chapter 4

The scene we see is one of utter chaos. While we were engaged at the gaps, the enemy crossed Mitheithel at a shallow point, and attacked our camp from the west. The true guile and cunning of Sauron's plan is revealed to us. Lure and capture me, kill Celeborn and then attack our leaderless warriors. Battalions of Orc are marching in the night, their torches shining with an angry red fire in the darkness, their black shields beyond counting.

Tarborn and Arminas rallied our men in a simple formation, with pikes in front, and archers behind. They are holding out for now, as companies of swordsmen move in to flank the Orcish warriors, and then swiftly retreat behind the line of pikes. But the enemy is numerous and the line is failing in many places. Some torches find their way to our tents, and black greasy smoke is rising into the air.

My cavalry managed to remain undetected for now, but we are not the only new force on the field. The Southron warriors charge across the marsh again, their swift horses bringing them close to Tarborn's unprotected archers. We are doomed if they are allowed to close the distance. Allowing my wrath to guide me, I lead a desperate charge meeting the Southrons head on. Their curved sabres are useless against the spears of my lancers, and they are quickly impaled and pushed back into the marsh. Elven battle cries ring out in the darkness.

Hope is renewed among the foot-soldiers at the sight of their lord, and their spears and swords push the Orc back. I order my cavalry to use their bows, while me and Celeborn dismount and send messengers to bring Arminas and Tarborn. They both arrive soon and the signs of fighting are evident on their tired and pale faces. The older commander spent all of his time in the front lines, rallying and encouraging the troops, but the situation is still dire. Tarborn's face looks almost feral, and his eyes are now the eyes of a much older man. He silently nods to us and remains standing while Arminas sits cross-legged on the ground and starts his report.

"It started around dusk, my lord." he says. "Our scouts noticed movement on the other bank of the Mitheithel, and soon the enemy started crossing. We could not attack them, for they had the higher ground, and we couldn't risk a battle with our numbers so few. Tarborn here and me only had the time to make a basic infantry formation before the enemy was upon us. There was a company of pikemen watching the marsh, but we were forced to recall them and place them in the front lines."

"Was this the first flanking attempt? " I ask, trying to understand the enemy's intentions.

"No, my liege. " Talborn replies solemnly. " They sent a group of Orcish berserkers armed with long curved blades. At first we managed to hold them back with our volleys, but my first line was soon forced into melee combat. I managed to rally the men and cut down the Orc, but the death-tool is high. Many of my warriors are wounded."

As is he. There is a gaping scimitar wound on his forehead, and his eyes are somewhat unfocused. His black hair is covered in gore, and the armor he wears is slightly dented at the chest. May the void take you Sauron! The poor lad should have been a musician.

"What were their numbers? " I ask quickly trying to mask my feelings. It is all my fault.

"Around eight hundred my lord, maybe more."

"That's too few, barely enough for a serious attempt." says Celeborn, his brow furrowed in concentration. "They look more like a shock troop that was supposed to break our resistance, then a flanking battalion." I listen quietly to him. If the very first commander of Elu Thingol finds this strange, we should all be worried. Suddenly he pales beneath his helm.

"The real flanking attempt will move across the Glanduin, and it shall be a force not smaller then the one we have here. The damn Nogothrim are the only thing stopping them from catching us in a pincer!"

"What can we do Celeborn? " I ask desperately. "We can not help them, for we are in the same situation here. ".

Durin, my friend, the son of a noble dwarf who was also my friend.

"They can not hold for long, and neither can we." Celeborn says gently. "If it wasn't for them, we wouldn't even have the opportunity for a clean retreat. They have the same option, lad. Don't worry for them. As savage as they are, the Nogoth are flawless warriors. And their city in the mountains can not be breached." I nod silently.

There is truth in his words. But I still ache for my friend whose life is in danger. A stout dwarven runner confirms his suspicions soon. Durin will retreat, but he will buy us all the time that he can. His generals are assuming that our communications with Lindon are severed, and so he offers to take in a solid number of Elven refugees, and assist them with passage into Lorinand.

"My lord told me that he expects you in the halls of Khazad-_dûm_ before the month expires. Let Sauron break his teeth upon the mountains, and the moment he turns his back on us, he will find an axe stuck in his spine." says the dwarf to me in a private conversation. "When will your lordship come?" Alas my friend, I can not accept the offer until my men are safe.

"Tell your lord we will meet again. " I say. Probably in Dagor-Dagorath. The messenger bows and departs, while I return to my commanders. The decision is simple. Harry them with cavalry while our footman try to evade them. Celeborn will lead the horseman, while I command the retreat. It will start soon.

Tarborn's archers start firing volley after volley into the blackness of the enemy's army. Our horseman line up where they can be seen, and take a position like the are preparing to charge. The Orc at once disengage and make a porcupine formation in front of their army. I chuckle to myself. Someone remembers that trampling incident . Our last line soldiers move back, soon followed by their first line counterparts. The lightly armored archers shoot some more, and then quickly jog to catch up with the rest. Before the Orc understand what is happening, we disappear from the field. The first pursuers are cut down by Celeborn's men. The race to Ost-in-Edhil has begun.


	5. Chapter 5

The flight to the city was a living nightmare. Running over six hours with an army of Orcs following behind isn't my idea of a pleasant experience. Even the sun didn't slow them down for Sauron conjured some vile cloud to shield his creatures from it's rays. Luckily, Celeborn's riders allowed us at least an hour of advantage. And we exploited it to the fullest. My elves are certainly better runners then the steel-clad soldiers of the enemy. As we ran through the countryside we took every civilian we could with us. It was a good thing that the south of Eregion wasn't so well populated, or we could never have warned everyone in time. Children who could not run were carried by my men. We looked much more like a people driven out of its home then a marching army. Soon the walls of Ost-in-Edhil were in sight.

The southern gate opened at the sight of my banner, and we moved into the protection of the city walls. My men could relax at last. But not me. The situation in the city was chaotic. Most of the refugees that tried to go to Lindon were forced to return, for Sauron's armies severed our lines of communication. The dwarves took in as much as they could, but still a large part was forced to remain in the city. We will have to send them to the north-west, and hope beyond hope that they will run into the troops of Gil-galad. I took Tarborn aside near the gate. There is at least one good thing I can do.

"Captain Tarborn, I want you to lead and protect the refugees in the march to the north." I told him sternly. "You know the lands well from your scouting days and you have my complete trust."

"But my lord, I can not! I will not leave your side in this hour!" he rebelled at once.

"There is no one that can do that except you. I am your liege and you have sworn an oath to me. Fulfil it now!

"As you command, my lord." he sighed.

I did not tell him the real reason I wanted him away. Oath or no oath, if he knew that I wanted to save at least one of our young soldiers, he would never have left. He departed in half an hour followed by a guard of two hundred warriors. I selected them myself from the youngest soldiers.

At least they will be safe.

Celeborn arrived soon after, with Orc wolf-riders at his heels. A volley from our walls was enough to scatter them. I couldn't help but notice his tired form covered in blood. But before I could open my mouth, he grabbed my arm and told me in a no-nonsense voice: "Don't even try sending me away, Fëanorian. If you insist, I might show you that there are much worse tempers in the world then that of your late uncle Caranthir". Well, I can't argue with that. Although I believe he did not see my uncle on a nice afternoon when a messenger told him that Dior won't give up the Silmaril. Neither have I, but the Fëanorian survivors told me he almost ruined a surprise attack. It was a miracle they did not hear him shouting in Doriath.

The news he bears are grim. The enemy's vanguard will be here in less then half an hour, and about the other army, there is no word. We can only wait. Soon we see them, marching in the summoned darkness, line after line, battalion after battalion, countless numbers beyond imagination. Not even bothering to line up first, they charge the walls with ladders. But my tired archers are still flawless. Their arrows brought down thousands of Orcs, before Sauron gave up the frontal assault idea. Hope started stirring in us. But then, we gazed to the south.

An army of the same size as the one already standing at our walls was coming from the gaps of Glanduin. Not that we did not see that one coming. Hope is lost in the grim dusk. We are caught in Sauron's pincers. We will not survive this. After the two enemy armies merge, battering rams start moving to the gate, while the ladders renew their assault upon the walls. My men fight mercilessly, firing arrows, cutting the ropes with their blades, but there are simply to many of them. For every one we slay, two more snarl beneath the wall. The battering rams have reached the gate, and the Trolls started swinging them. Ost-in-Edhil is not made for war.

The gate is destroyed in a minute, and the black tide pours inside. Running for the second time in a single day, Celeborn and I rally the soldiers and lead them to the hearth of the city, and the house of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. I notice that Sauron is holding his Orc back. He is afraid of them stealing the treasures and keeping them for themselves I can use that. On the stairs of the house of jewel-smiths, Arminas, Celeborn, and myself hold our final council. They do not want to leave me. I must make them see sense!

"He is going after me!" I shout. "If he doesn't get me now, he will hound every step of our retreat to the north. No one of us will survive until dawn!

"We can not leave you, Tyelpe!"Arminas snaps. Celeborn places a calming hand on his shoulder.

"It is right that we all fall together, in the defense of the land we loved so much" he says.

"You are needed! My people needs leaders! Young Talborn can not reforge our strength! You two must go!" I almost yell with frustration trying to make them see sense.

"What about you? Do you want us to end you painlessly and quick? You will have neither if Sauron gets his hand on you." Celeborn almost weeps.

"If he finds me dead, he will go after my commanders so he could interrogate them. And the people he will slaughter. This must be done, Celeborn. This is my redemption! My final sacrifice for the salvation of my people! I beg of you, take the soldiers and leave! Save yourself!" I almost scream.

Arminas shakes my hand and gives us a moment. Celeborn kisses my forehead.

"Namarie, Tyelpe." he whispers fighting against tears. I hug him ferociously.

"May you live long and well, my friend." I whisper. In a blink of an eye, they are gone, Celeborn sending me a last sad look over the thick smoke. I sit on the stairs, waiting. A company of Orc spots me.

"Come here lads! Fresh elf meat!" I do not even honor them with an answer. A minute later, they lie dead around me.

"Come here, Annatar!" I shout. "I am not Ñolofinwë , don't worry."

And he comes. I see a deep shadow forming on the stairs. A pale face with unblinking red, cold eyes is looking at me. Dressed in an ornate black armor, his hands on a two handed mace. He smiles at me, and I feel my blood being chilled by that gaze.

"So, you did what I believed you would do. I do not care for your people. I came here for you. And you will tell me everything you know. Do it, Elf, and I promise you a painless death. Resist, and I will give you such a treatment, that even the one your dear uncle Maitimo got in Angband will pale in comparison."

His voice is so powerful and subtle. I feel the urge to obey. But the mentioning of my uncle inflames my rage. He was never the same after Angband. I lash out with my blade, so fast he can not parry. I strike his cheek giving him a long scar disfiguring his upper lip. The shadow swirls around him, and by instinct I know he tries to heal. But he won't heal from the strike of a blade made by Fëanáro himself. Sauron soon comes to the same conclusion, and snarls at me: "You will pay for that, Elf! And you will beg for the death before the end."

He moves, a towering shadow. I parry one of his strikes, and the strength of it sends me tumbling to my knees. I get up, and we circle each-other. Then he moves like a cheetah. How can he be so damn fast with such a heavy weapon? I barely move away in time. The duel continues, with me barely escaping his mace a few times. But his armor also bears the mark of my sword. After one swift parry, the mace strikes my spine. All goes dark for a moment. When I recover, I see Sauron standing above me, holding my sword. The fight is over. The time for my redemption has come. He knocks me out with the hilt of his mace.


	6. Chapter 6

I awaken a day later, tied to something, that I soon recognize as a whipping post. Sauron is in front of me grinning like a madman. "Our honored guest has awakened, gentlemen." he says. "Let us show some hospitality". A whip is brought, and a strike lands on my back, then another, then another. I bite my lip, determined not to cry out.

The whipping continues, until my entire back are in flame. I do not even want to imagine how they look now. Every time a blow lands, Sauron hisses: "Where are the rings?". Pretending to be in unbearable pain, I struggle as if I want to speak. The whipping stops. He comes near to me and I whisper: "I left them on your mother's night-table after that unforgettable night."

The look on his face almost makes it worth it. Almost. I am turned with my wounded back pressed against the hard wood. Branding irons are brought and heated until they blaze the very air around them. It wasn't even a good joke. Maiar don't have mothers. But if I said father instead, that would be blasphemy.

"I have the nine, and I know of the seven. Do you think the Lord of the Rings can be near a bearer and not sense it? You gave the seven to that mountain-lunatic Durin and the dwarves. I will hunt them down in due time, but you will tell me where the three are."

I remain silent. An iron is pressed into my chest, but I don't even cry out. My goal is simple. Provoke him enough to kill him. Again pretending I want to yield I whimper softly. When he comes near I say:"Oh the pain is unbearable! Almost like the lashes that I got when I added black paint into Uncle Celegorm's shampoo!" My provocation works. He is almost seething with anger and hatred. I am brought in front of a battalion of Orcish marksman, and tied to a pole. Very good, I can work with that. Arrows are set into bows, and they get the warning not to shoot above the waist. An arrow lands into my thigh, then my knees and calves are covered in sharp barbed arrow-heads. I refuse to cry out. And in the moment before they shoot, I spit at one of them. I didn't even know I can aim that well from such a distance. I have to remember to thank uncle Ambarussa. He gets his aim off, and hits me in the ribs. I feel a lung being pierced. A smile covered in blood is on my face. Sauron at once comes and tries to staunch the bleeding. He can not do it. I have a minute left and nothing can save me. He poured so much of himself into destruction that he can not heal me. The last thing I see is his face aflame with anger, while he slaughters the entire battalion of Orc. Darkness takes me, but soon I can see a white light. I feel no pain, only bliss. I see my mother's face, my father grinning while jumping uncomfortably from leg to leg, one hand around her shoulder. Uncle Maitimo with both hands holding them out for an embrace. Uncle Carnistir with a wide smile. Grandfather observing the entire affair and trying not to laugh. Our entire family. I am home. By the Valar, I am home!

Celeborn moved among a group of refugees trying to bring them hope. His men were the rearguard covering the retreat. He was so tired. After three days, they were still coming. He turned once again to face a battalion of berserkers fighting under a strange banner he never saw before. After focusing his eyes, he sees that the banner is actually Celebrimbor's body hanging on a pole, covered in arrows. Before he can think it through properly, a Doriathrim battle cry escapes his lips, followed by a thundering roar:

"For Celebrimbor!". While he charges the Orc, he can hear Arminas and his swordsman pick up the cry. The weary, small company attacks an entire battalion. After the first one is cut into half by Celeborn's sword, the rest flee before the elven blades and the light in their leader's eyes. Softly, as if cradling a child, Celeborn takes the body of the pole. He closes the eyes. Then he notices the little smile on Celebrimbor's face. The peace of his expression is beyond the world of the living. Warm tears start forming in his eyes. His friend did not die. He triumphed.


	7. Epilogue

The year 1702 of the Second Age

A hooded figure was standing on a small, unremarkable grave somewhere in the northern wilderness of the land that was once called Eregion. Unremarkable, save for a small star engraved in the middle of the gravestone by unskilled hands. The star of the house of Fëanáro. The figure took out a harp from the depths of his cloak and started a haunting song:

_At the crack of the dawn thunder and lightning crossed the way_  
_The shadow of knight waited to see the bright light of the day_  
_Nobody saw his bitter tears through the dark veil of rain_  
_The river of blood under his feet run wild again and again._

_The green roses will grow_  
_While green fields turn to red_  
_Only memory remains_  
_Of hero and his faith._

_He just stood and he stared with a sword in his hand_  
_Under the bridge of rainbow's gold he fought for his land_  
_The black crow stole his destiny and flew from the cross_  
_Flyin' high, goin' so far to take his soul away._

_The green roses will grow_  
_While green fields turn to red_  
_Only memory remains_  
_Of hero and his faith._

After he was done, he placed a badly burned hand on the gravestone. A couple of tears fell into the dust. "You did so well, nephew." Makalaurë whispered.

_**That is the end of my first longer story. The song above does not belong to me, but to a Serbian band called Orthodox Celts. They play a fascinating mixture of rock and traditional Irish music. I strongly advise that you listen to some of their songs. You might be surprised. Please review. I would like to thank Rhovaniel for giving me the courage to actually finish this. As I said, I am a newborn writter. Have fun.**_

_**Sincerely**_

_**Aranarth**_


End file.
